OF BACCHUS AND THE MUSES
Seldom or never, in all its length of days, had the great dining room
of the ancient hostelry of the "George and Dragon" glowed with such
sartorial splendour or known such an elegant posturing of silk-clad
legs, such a flirting of ruffles, such a whirl of full-skirted coats;
coats, these, of velvet, of worked satin and rich brocade, coats of
various colours from Sir Benjamin's pink and gold to Lord Alvaston's
purple and silver; the light of many candles scintillated in jewelled
cravat and shoe-buckle, shone upon crested buttons and on the glossy
curls of huge periwigs, black, brown and gold. In the midst of this
gorgeous company stood a short, stoutish gentleman, his booted legs
wide apart, his sun-burned face nearly as red as his weatherbeaten
service coat, a little man with a truculent eye.
"Od's my life, my lord Colonel!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin, wringing his
hand, "I know not what propitious zephyr hath wafted George Cleeve into
these Arcadian solitudes, but hem! being hither I do protest you shall
this night sit the honoured guest of good-Fellowship, Bacchus and the
Muses, shedding upon our poetical revels the--the effulgence of your
hem! your glories, gracing our company with, I say with the----"
"Hold, Ben!" sighed my Lord Alvaston, making graceful play with his
slender legs, "hold hard, Ben, an' get your wind while I 'splain. Sir,
what poor Ben's been tryin' t' tell you 'n' can't tell you is--that we
shall rejoice if you'll sup with us. And so say we all----"
"Strike me dumb if we don't!" added the Marquis.
"Haw!" muttered the Captain. "B'gad! So we do!"
"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, "I protest ya' do me too much honour,
'tis curst polite in ya' and I take it kindly, rot me, kindly!"
"Od's body, sir," cried Sir Benjamin, "the honour is completely ours, I
vow, your exploits in Flanders and Brabant sir, your notable
achievements on the stricken fields of Mars, the very name of Colonel
Lord George Cleeve coruscates with hem! with glory, shines
like--like--a----"
"Star," suggested the Captain. Hereupon Lord Cleeve bowed, the company
bowed, shot their ruffles, fluttered their handkerchiefs and snuffed
with one another.
"Hem!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin with an air of ponderous waggery, "as I
was saying when my Lord Cleeve dropped upon us so happily, 'tis then
agreed that Alton and I shall see the Major home at peep o' day!" Here
Sir Benjamin grew so waggish that he very nearly laid plump finger to
nose but checked himself in time and coughed instead. "I vow 'twill be
an honour, for, foxed or no and despite his hem! his rusticity, Major
d'Arcy is a gentleman, a----"
"Ha!" exclaimed the Colonel suddenly. "Do ya' mean Jack d'Arcy o' the
Third, sir--d'Arcy of Churchill's regiment?" Sir Benjamin bowed and
smiled:
"You know him, my lord? A simple, quiet, kindly soul----"
His lordship stared, laughed a short, hoarse bellow and, becoming
immediately solemn, nodded:
"That's Jack to a hair, simple, quiet and dev'lish deadly! 'Twas so he
looked, I mind, when he killed the greatest rogue and duellist in the
three armies. Simple and quiet! Aye, 'twas so he seemed when he led
us to the storming of the counterscarp at Namur in '95, as he was when
he rallied our broken ranks at Blenheim and, after, when we turned the
French right at Oudenarde. He was my senior in those days and where he
went I followed and they called him 'Fighting d'Arcy' though a simple
soul, sir, as ya' say. I was behind him when he led us against the
French left at Ramillies and broke it too. I saw him dragged, all
blood and dust, out o' the press at Malplaquet. 'Done for at last,'
thought I--but Gad, sirs, they couldn't kill Fighting d'Arcy for all
his quiet looks and simple ways! Aye, I know Jack, we were brothers,
and like brothers we drank together, slept, quarrelled, and fought
together--he seconded me in my first affair of honour!"
"Od's my life!" ejaculated Sir Benjamin. "Our rustic philosopher turns
out a very Mars, a thundering Jove, a paladin----"
"True blue, damme!" added the Marquis.
"And yonder he comes," said Mr. Marchdale at the window, "and Merivale
with him."
"Nunky," said the Viscount as they entered the hospitable portal of the
"George and Dragon," "Ben and Alvaston are set on seeing you
comfortably faxed to-night."
"Foxed? Ah, you mean drunk, Tom?"
"Perfectly sir, all in the way of friendship and good-fellowship of
course, still I thought I'd let you know."
"For the which I am duly and humbly grateful, Tom," answered the Major
as, opening the door, the Viscount bowed and stood aside to give him
precedence.
The Major's appearance was hailed with loud cheers and cries of
"Fighting d'Arcy," drowned all at once in a hoarse roar as, with a
tramp and jingle of heavy, spurred boots, Colonel Lord George Cleeve
ran at him, thumped him and clasped him in a bear's hug:
"'Tis the same Jack Grave-airs!" he cried, "the same sedate John! Ha,
damme, man-Jack, be curst if I don't joy to see thee again!"
"Why George!" exclaimed the Major, patting the Colonel's back with one
hand and gripping his fist with the other, "why Georgie, I do protest
thou'rt growing fat!"
"Burn thee for a vile-tongued rogue to say so, Jack! Ha, Jack, do ya'
mind that night in the trenches before Maastricht when we laid a trap
for young Despard of Ogle's and caught the Colonel? 'Twas next day we
stormed and ya' took a bayonet through your thigh----"
"And you brought me down from the breach George----"
"And cursed ya' heartily the while, I forget why but ya' deserved it!"
"Stay, George, supper is served I think, and let me introduce Viscount
Merivale"; which done he saluted the company and they forthwith sat
down to table.
And now corks squeaked and popped, servants and waiting-men bustled to
and fro, glasses clinked, knives and forks rattled merrily to the hum
of talk and ring of laughter.
"By the way, sir," said the Major, addressing his neighbour the
Marquis, "I don't--er--see Mr. Dalroyd here to-night."
"No more you do sir, strike me dumb! And for the sufficient reason he
ain't here. Dalroyd's a determined hunter o' feminine game sir, O dem!
To-night he's in full cry, I take it--joys o' the chase, sir--some
dainty bit o' rustic beauty--some shy doe----"
"I wonder who?" enquired the Viscount, stifling a yawn.
"Dalroyd's dev'lish close," answered Lord Alvaston, "close as 'n oyster
'sequently echo answers 'who?'"
"Gentlemen all," cried Sir Benjamin, "I rise to give you a name--to
call the toast of toasts. I give you Betty--our bewitching, our
incomparable, Our Admirable Betty!"
Up rose the company one and all and the long chamber echoed to the
toast:
"Our Admirable Betty!"
Ensued a moment's pause and every empty glass shivered to fragments on
the broad hearth. But now, as the clatter and hum and laughter broke
out anew, the Major, frowning a little, glanced across at the Viscount
and found him frowning also.
Courses came and went and ever the talk and laughter waxed louder and
merrier, glasses brimmed and were emptied, bottles made the circuit of
the table in unending procession; gentlemen pledged each other, toasts
were called and duly honoured; in the midst of which the Major feeling
a hand upon his shoulder glanced up into the face of the Viscount.
"Nunky," he murmured, "certain things considered, I'm minded for a
walk!" and with a smiling nod he turned and vanished among the bustling
throng of servants and waiting-men, as Sir Benjamin arose, portentous
of brow and with laced handkerchief a-flutter:
"Gentlemen," said he, glancing round upon the brilliant assembly,
"gentlemen, or should I rather say--fellow-martyrs of the rosy, roguish
archer----"
"Haw!" exclaimed the Captain. "Prime, Ben!"
"Hear, hear!" nodded Alvaston. "Good, Ben--doocid delicate 'n' the
bottle's with you, Jasper!"
"We are here, sirs," continued Sir Benjamin, bowing his
acknowledgments, "to sit unitedly in hem! in judgment upon the
individual compositions of the--the----"
"Field!" suggested the Marquis.
"Gang?" murmured Alvaston.
"Amorous brotherhood!" sighed Sir Jasper.
"Company, gentlemen, of the company. Versification affords a broad
field for achievement poetic since we have such various forms as the
rondel, ballade, pantoum--"
"O burn me, Ben," ejaculated Alvaston, "you're out there! What's
verses t' do with phantoms----"
"I said 'pantoum,' sir--besides which, gentlemen, we have the triolet,
the kyrielle, the virelai, the vilanelle----"
"O dem!" cried the Marquis, "sounds curst improper and villainous, too,
Ben." Cries of "Order, Ben, order----"
"And likewise O!" added Lord Alvaston.
"Eh?" exclaimed Sir Benjamin, "I say what----"
"None o' your French villainies, Ben," continued the Marquis, "we want
nothing smacking o' the tap-room, the stable or the kennel, Ben,
'twon't do! We must ha' nought to cause the blush o' shame----"
"No, Ben," added Alvaston, "nor yet t' 'ffend th' chastest ear----"
"Od sir, od's body--I protest----"
"So none o' your villainies Ben," sighed Alvaston, "no looseness,
coarseness, ribaldry or bawdry----"
"Blood and fury!" roared the exasperated Sir Benjamin, "I hope I'm
sufficiently a man of honour----"
"Quite, Ben, quite--the very pink!" nodded his lordship affably. "And
talkin' o' pink, the bottle stands, Marchdale! Fill, gentlemen. I
give you Ben, our blooming Benjamin and no heel-taps!"
The health was drunk with acclaim and Sir Benjamin, once more his
jovial and pompous self, proceeded:
"In writing these odes and sonnets we have all, I take it, depended
upon our mother--hem! our mother-wit and each followed his individual
fancy. I now take joy to summon Denholm to read to us his--ah--effort."
Sir Jasper rose, drew a paper from his bosom, sighed, languished with
his soulful eyes and read:
"Groan, groan my heart, yet in thy groaning joy
Since thou'rt deep-smit of Venus' blooming boy;
Till Sorrow's flown
And Joy's thine own
Groan!"
"Haw!" exclaimed the Captain, "very chaste! Doocid delicate!"
Sir Jasper bowed and continued:
"Pant, pant my heart, yet in thy panting ne'er
Let Doubt steal in to slay thee with despair;
But till Love grant
All heart doth want
Pant!"
"Gad!" said the Marquis, "you're doing a dem'd lot o' panting, Jasper!"
"I vow 'tis quaintly mournful!" nodded Sir Benjamin. "'Tis polished
and passionate!"
Again Sir Jasper bowed, and continued:
"Sob, sob my soul, sobs soul----"
"Hold hard, Denholm!" quoth Alvaston. "There's too many sobs f'r
sense. I don't object t' you groaning, I pass y'r pants, but you're
getting y'r soul damnably mixed wi' y'r sobs."
"Nay, 'tis a cry o' the soul, Alvaston," sighed Sir Jasper, "a very
heart-throb, faith. Listen!"
"Sob, sob my soul sobs soulful night and day
Till she in mercy shall thy pain allay
Till all she rob
And for thee throb
Sob!"
"Curst affecting!" said the Captain, applauding with thumping
wine-glass.
"Od gentlemen," cried Sir Benjamin as Sir Jasper sank back in his
chair, "I do protest 'tis very infinite tender! It hath delicacy,
pathos and a rhythm entirely its own. Denholm, I felicitate you
heartily! And now, Alvaston, we call upon you!"
His lordship arose, stuck out a slender leg, viewed it with lazy
approval, and unfolding a paper, recited therefrom as follows:
"Let the bird sing on the bough
Th' ploughboy sing an' sweat
But, while I can, I will avow
Th' charms o' lovely Bet.
Let----"
"Hold!" commanded Sir Benjamin.
"Stop!" cried the Marquis. "Strike me everlastingly blue but I've got
'sweat' demme!"
"'S'heart, so have I!" exclaimed Mr. Marchdale with youthful
indignation.
"Burn me!" sighed Alvaston, "seems we're all sweating! 'S unfortunate,
curst disquietin' I'll admit, though I only sweat i' the first verse.
Le' me go on:"
"Let the parson----"
"Hold!" repeated Sir Benjamin. "Desist, Alvaston, I object to sweat,
sir!"
"An' very natural too, Ben--Gad, I'll not forget you at th' churn! But
to continue:"
"Let the parson pray----"
"Stay!" thundered Sir Benjamin. "Alvaston, sweat shall never do!"
"Why, Ben, why?"
"Because, first 'tis not a word poetic----"
"But I submit 'tis easy, Ben, an' very natural! Remember the churn
Ben, the churn an' le' me get on. Faith! here we're keepin' my
misfortunate parson on his knees whiles you boggle over a word! 'Sides
if my 'sweat' 's disallowed you damn Alton and Marchdale unheard!"
Hereupon, while Sir Benjamin shook protesting head, his lordship
smoothed out his manuscript, frowned at it, turned it this way, turned
it that, and continued:
"Let the parson pray and screech----"
"No, demme, 'tisn't 'screech'--here's a blot! Now what th' dooce--ha,
'preach' t' be sure----"
"Let the parson pray and preach
And fat preferments get
But, so long as I have speech--
I'll sing the charms o' Bet.
"Let the----"
"By th' way I take liberty t' call 'tention t' the fact that I begin
'n' end each canto wi' the same words, 'let' 'n' 'Bet.'"
"Let th' world go--round an' round
The day be fine or wet,
Take all that 'neath th' sun is found
An' I'll take lovely Bet."
"Bravo Bob! Bravo! Simple and pointed! Haw!" quoth the Captain,
hammering plaudits with his wine-glass again.
"'Tis not--not utterly devoid o' merits!" admitted Sir Benjamin
judicially.
"Thank'ee humbly, my Benjamin!"
"Nay, but it hath points, Alvaston, especially towards the finality,
though 'tis somewhat reminiscent of Mr. Waller."
"How so, sweet Ben?"
"In its climacteric thus, sir:"
"Give me but what this ribband bound
Take all the rest the sun goes round."
"Egad Ben, I've never read a word o' the fool stuff in my life, so
you're out there, burn me! And the bottle roosts with you, Alton.
Give it wings. Major d'Arcy sir--with you!"
"Marchdale," said Sir Benjamin, "our ears attend you!"
Mr. Marchdale rose, coughed, tossed back his love-locks, unfolded his
manuscript and setting hand within gorgeous bosom read forth the
following:
"Chaste hour, soft hour, O hour when first we met
O blissful hour, my soul shall ne'er forget
How, 'mid the rose and tender violet,
Chaste, soft and sweet as rose, stood lovely Bet,
Her wreath-ed hair like silky coronet
O'er-wrought with wanton curls of blackest jet
Each glistered curl a holy amulet;
Her pearl-ed teeth her rosy lips did fret
As they'd sweet spices been or ambergret,
While o'er me stole her beauty like a net
Wherein my heart was caught and pris'ner set
A captive pent for love and not for debt,
A captive that in prison pineth yet.
A captive knowing nothing of regret
Nor uttering curse nor woeful epithet.
I pled my love, my brow grew hot, grew wet,
While sweetly she did sigh and I did sweat."
"Sweat, Tony?" exclaimed the Marquis. "O dem! What for?"
"Because 'twas the only rhyme I had left, for sure!"
"Od, od's my life!" cried Sir Benjamin, "here we have poesy o' the
purest, in diction chaste, in expression delicate, in----"
"Nay, but Tony sweats too, Ben!" protested Alvaston.
"No matter, sir, no matter--'tis a very triumph! So elegant! Od's
body Marchdale, 'tis excellent--sir, your health!"
"Burn me, Ben, but if Tony may sweat why th' dooce----"
"Major d'Arcy sir, I charge to you!" Hereupon Sir Benjamin filled and
bowed, the Major did the same, and they drank together.
"But Ben," persisted Alvaston, "if Tony----"
"West, the floor and our attention are yours, sir!"
The Captain rose, shot his ruffles, squared his shoulders and read:
"Warble ye songsters of the grove--haw!
Warble of her that is my love
Where'er on pinions light ye rove
Haw!
Ye feathered songsters--warble.
"Warble ye heralds of the--haw!--the air
Warble her charms beyond compare
Warble here and warble there
Haw!
Ye feathered songsters--warble.
Warble, warble on the spray
Warble night and warble day
Warble, warble whiles ye may
Haw!
Ye feathered songsters--warble."
"A pretty thing!" nodded Sir Benjamin, "'tis light, 'tis
graceful--easy, flowing, and full of----"
"Warbles!" murmured Alvaston.
"'Tis a musical word, sir, and what is poesy but word-music? I commend
'warble' heartily--we all do, I think."
Here a chorus of approval whereupon the Captain bowed, shot his ruffles
again, said 'Haw!' and sat down.
"Alton, 'tis now your turn!"
Up rose the Marquis, tossed off his glass, fished a somewhat crumpled
paper from his pocket and incontinent gave tongue:
"A song I sing in praise of Bet
I sing a song o' she, sirs
O let the ploughboy curse and sweat
But what is that to me, sirs?
My bully boys, brave bully boys
But what is that to me, sirs?"
"Here's that misfortunate ploughboy sweating again!" sighed Alvaston,
while Sir Benjamin choked with wine and indignant horror:
"Hold, od's my life--Alton, hold!" he gasped. "Heaven save us, what's
all this? 'Twill never do----"
"Sink me, Ben--why not?"
"Because it sounds like nothing in the world but a low drinking catch,
sir, mingled and confused with a vulgar hunting-snatch."
"Nay, you'll find it betters as it goes--heark'ee!"
"I love the pretty birds to hear;
The horn upon the hill
But when my buxom Bet appear
Her voice is sweeter still
Brave boys!
Her voice is sweeter still!
"The fish that doth in water swim
Though burnished bright he be
Doth all his scaly splendours dim
If Bet he chance to see.
Brave boys!
If Bet he chance to see.
"There's joy----"
"Ha' you got much more, Harry?" enquired Alvaston mournfully.
"O demme yes, when I get my leg over Pegasus, Bob, 'tis hard to
dismount me."
"There's joy in riding of a horse
That bottom hath and pace
But better still I love of course
Bet's witching, handsome face.
Brave boys!
Bet's witching, handsome face!
"E'en as the----"
"Hold a minute, Harry! You're givin' us a treatise on natural hist'ry,
sure?"
"How so, Bob?"
"Well, you've sung 'bout a bird, 'n' fish, 'n' beast--why ignore the
humble reptile? If you've got any more you might give us a rhyme 'bout
vermin----"
"Demme, Bob, so I have! Heark'ee:"
"E'en as the small but gamesome flea
On her white neck might frisk, sirs
Could I be there--then, e'en as he
My life, like him, I'd risk, sirs.
My bully boys, brave bully boys
My life, like him, I'd risk, sirs!"
Pandemonium broke forth; bottles rolled, glasses fell unheeded and
shivered upon the floor while the long room roared with Gargantuan
laughter, rising waves of merriment wherein Sir Benjamin's indignant
outburst was wholly drowned and his rapping was lost and all unheeded.
Howbeit, having broken two glasses and a plate in his determined
knocking, he seized upon a bottle and thundered with that until
gradually the tempest subsided and a partial calm succeeded.
"Gentlemen!" he cried, his very peruke seeming to bristle with outraged
decorum, "gentlemen, I move the total suppression of this verse--"
Here his voice was lost in shouts of: "No, no! Let be, Ben! Order!"
"I say," repeated Sir Benjamin, "it must and shall be suppressed!"
"O why, my Ben, why?" queried Alvaston, feeble with mirth.
"Because 'tis altogether too--too natural! Too--ah intensely,
personally intimate----" Here the rafters rang again while drawers,
ostlers and waiting-maids peeped in at slyly-opened doors. Silence
being at last restored Sir Benjamin arose, snuffed daintily, flicked
himself gracefully and bowed:
"Gentlemen," said he, "after the hem! brilliant flights o' fancy we
have been privileged to hear, I allude particularly to Sir Jasper's
soulful strophes and to--to----"
"Alton's gamesome flea?" suggested Alvaston, whereat was laughter with
cries of "Order."
"And to Marchdale's delightful lyric," continued Sir Benjamin. "I do
confess to no small diffidence in offering to your attention my own
hem! I say my own poor compositions and do so in all humility. My
first is a trifle I may describe as an alliterative acrostic, its
matter as followeth."
"Bewitching Bet by bounteous Beauty blessed
Each eager eye's enjoyment is expressed
That thus to thee doth turn then--thrilling thought;
Thou, thou thyself that teach may too be taught,
Yea, you yourself--to yearn as beauty ought."
"I' faith, gentlemen," said he, bowing to their loud applause, "I
humbly venture to think it hath some small ingenuity. My next is a set
of simple verselets pretending to no great depth of soul nor
heart-stirring pathos, they are hem! they are--what they are----"
"Are ye sure o' that, Ben?" demanded Alvaston earnestly.
"Sure sir, yes sir--od's my life, I ought to be--I wrote 'em!"
"Then let's hear 'em and judge. But look'ee, Ben, if they ain't what
they are they won't do--not if you were ten thousand Benjamen!"
Sir Benjamin stared, rubbed his chin, shook his head, sighed and read:
"Venus hath left her Grecian isles
With all her charms and witching wiles
And now all rustic hearts beguiles
In bowery Westerham!
"Ye tender herds, ye listening deer
Forget your food, forget your fear
Our glorious Betty reigneth here
In happy Westerham!
"Ye little lambs that on the green
In gambols innocent are seen
In gleeful chorus hail your queen
Sweet Bet of Westerham!
"Ye feathered----"
"Stop!" exclaimed Alvaston. "Your lambs'll never do, Ben!"
"Od sir, I say egad, why not?"
"Because lambs don't hail 'n' if they could hail their hail would be a
'baa' and being a baa Bet would ha' t' be a sheep t' understand 'em
which Gad forbid, Ben! An' the bottle's with----"
"A sheep sir, a sheep?" spluttered Sir Benjamin. "Malediction! What
d'ye mean?"
"I mean I object t' Betty being turned int' a sheep either by
inference, insinuation or induction--I 'ppeal t' the company!"
Here ensued a heated discussion ending in his lordship's objection
being quashed, whereupon Sir Benjamin, his face redder than ever and
his elegant peruke a little awry, continued:
"Ye feathered songsters blithely sing
Ye snowy lambkins frisk and spring
To Betty let our glasses ring
In joyous Westerham!"
Sir Benjamin sat down amidst loud acclaim, and there immediately
followed a perfervid debate as to the rival merits of the several
authors and finally, amid a scene of great excitement, Mr. Marchdale
was declared the victor.
And now appeared a mighty bowl of punch flanked by pipes and tobacco at
sight of which the company rose in welcome.
"Gentlemen," said Sir Benjamin, grasping silver ladle much as it had
been a sceptre, "the Muses have departed but in their stead behold the
jovial Bacchus with the attendant sprite yclept Virginia. Gentlemen,
it hath been suggested that we shall drink glass and glass and----"
"Damned be he who first cries 'hold enough'!" murmured Alvaston.
"Gentlemen, the night is young, let now the rosy hours pass in joyous
revelry and good-fellowship!"
So the merry riot waxed and waned, tobacco smoke ascended in filmy
wreaths, songs were sung and stories told while ever the glasses filled
and grew empty and the Major, lighting his fifth pipe at a candle,
turned to find Lord Cleeve addressing him low-voiced amid the general
din across a barricade of empty bottles.
"--don't like it Jack," he was saying, "no duty for a gentleman and
King's officer, we're no damned catchpolls ... word hath come in
roundabout way of a Jacobite rebel in these parts.... Two o' my
captains out with search parties ... poor devil!"
Slowly the clamour of voices and laughter died away, the candles burned
low and lower in their sconces and through a blue haze the Major espied
Sir Benjamin asprawl in his chair, his fine coat wine-splashed, his
great peruke obscuring one eye, snoring gently. Hard by, Alvaston lay
forward across the table, his face pillowed upon a plate, deep-plunged
in stertorous slumber while the Colonel, sitting opposite, leaned back
in his chair and stared up solemnly at the raftered ceiling. Candles
were guttering to their end, the long chamber, the inn itself seemed
strangely silent and the broad casement already glimmered with the dawn.
"Jack," said the Colonel suddenly, "'tis odd--'tis devilish odd I vow
'tis, but place feels curst--empty!" The Major glanced around the
disordered chamber and shivered. "Jack, here's you and here's me--very
well! Yonder's Sir Benjamin and Lord Alvaston--very well again! But
question is--where's t'others?"
"Why I think, I rather think George, they're under the table."
Hereupon the Colonel made as if to stoop down and look but thought
better of it, and stretching out a foot instead, touched something soft
and nodded solemnly:
"B'gad Jack--so they are!" said he and sat staring up at the rafters
again while the pallid dawn grew brighter at the window.
"Man Jack," he went on with a beaming smile, "'tis a goodish spell
since we had an all-night bout together. Last time I mind was in
Brabant at----" The Colonel sat up suddenly, staring through the
casement where, in the sickly light of dawn, stood a figure which
paused opposite the window to stare up at the sleeping inn, and was
gone.
"Refuse me!" exclaimed the Colonel, still staring wide of eye,
"Jack--did ye see it?"
"Aye, George!"
"Then Jack if we're not drunk we ought to be--but drunk or no, we've
seen a ghost!"
"Whose, George?"
"Why, the spirit of that ravishing satyr, that black rogue you killed
years ago in Flanders--Effingham, by Gad!"
"Ah!" sighed the Major.